


Grave men, near death

by Bioluminescent



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, Brainwashing, Canon-Typical Violence, Mind Manipulation, Past Brainwashing, ep55 spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-16
Updated: 2019-03-16
Packaged: 2019-11-22 11:26:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18135059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bioluminescent/pseuds/Bioluminescent
Summary: The voice hums again inside his head, slowly curling deeper, approval running through him in a flash as footsteps pound down the tunnel and he turns to meet the gazes of the group, of Jester and Beauregard. His head tilts to the side as that voice whispers to him,Light them up, pretty.





	Grave men, near death

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers for Episode 55
> 
> I know this isn't exactly how it went down, and I probably won't edit it to match when it's put up on YouTube.
> 
> Title from the poem [Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night](https://www.poets.org/poetsorg/poem/do-not-go-gentle-good-night)

His thoughts are like a storm. Always swirling, tumbling against each other, harsh impacts and stuttering uneven directions. He remembers the exact moment they shattered from their organized authority. He remembers everything.

He stares down where Nott should be as she speaks of Astrid and his thoughts fall still in shock.

A thought curls into a voice at the back of his head, warming the cold center of his chest as he stares at Nott. _It was only a matter of time, pretty. They were always going to betray you, we both know it. I won’t._ He knows she’s right. He does. So why is he hesitating? The voice hums, smokey in his head, tickling the dark corners of his mind, _I won’t abandon you. I know you are strong, stronger than they are. They only drag you down. I can pull you up._

“Caleb?” Nott’s reedy voice breaks through his conviction and belief in that voice, and he looks at her again and feels the corners of his mouth curl up ever so slightly.

The voice hums again inside his head, slowly curling deeper, approval running through him in a flash as footsteps pound down the tunnel and he turns to meet the gazes of the group, of Jester and Beauregard. His head tilts to the side as that voice whispers to him, _Light them up, pretty._

As fire blooms around the group, their looks of shock settle something inside him, as they scream in fear and pain, smoke and scent of burned flesh filling the cavern, a soft gasp of shock to his side. He knows, now, that this is how he is meant to be.

Power fills him in a way it has not in years, the familiar burn and pull of energy into flame, into destruction. He bites back a laugh as they fling attacks at him, clumsy compared to his elegance and training.

He watches behind his wall of fire as Fjord joins, then breaks, as the half-orc raises one hand, coldness collecting around him in the air before he yanks, and water pushes Caleb off his feet, his flames sputtering and choking against the cold water. Instinct and deep rooted training kicks in, diverting magic to strengthen his limbs as his arms shoot out and grab at rocks at the side, stopping him just shy of the flames. Grumbling at the water, the flames sizzle near the sodden rock, and something dark curls in his gut.

Shock and anger meet his eyes as he looks up. 

Their attacks come fast, trying to unbalance him, and he growls at how easy it is to do so without two others to even him out. A roar of rage catches his attention, and he turns, just quick enough to fling up a field of arcane energy in a crackle of will. Steel sinks into his shoulder on the next swing, and for the second time in his life, the clarity of his thoughts shatter like glass.

The smell of burned flesh chokes him, and the horror is almost overwhelming as Yasha stares down at him, a plea on her lips.

His chest is cold again, and everything is numb even as the purpose of battle begins to fill him. Once more, his fingers shake as he reaches for spell components, as Jester curses at him. He is able to bite back the flinch, barely able to speak, to explain what happened, as his burned allies turn to the incubus with looks of unspeakable anger.

Acid flies from his fingers and fire burns in his soul, but he is still cold.

~~~~~~~

_Come on, come on._

Desperation burns through her limbs, hot and panicked as she strikes, a flash of magic pushing her blade away as she half expected it would, but the second sinks into flesh even as she cringes at the blood welling up over shuddering metal. She watches as the faint haze over electric blue eyes fades, the smirk on a face suddenly changed with confidence and a blaze of power falling into a look of horror and realization. 

The battlefield is still between the two of them as she lifts her sword from Caleb’s shoulder as gently as she can, and she knows a look of relief is on her face as Caleb stumbles back, horror burning hot and bright in his eyes as he spins to find one of the fiends they are fighting.

As she stalks towards the little quasits chattering and chittering, the light of the wall of fire dims and sputters before dying completely. 

One. Two. Three.

Each slash of her sword cuts like a scythe of death, and the quasits fall with piercing shrieks, her ears ringing like they always do in battle.

Pounding steps over stone and she turns, Beauregard streaking past in a flash of blue, a snarl on her face and eyes trained on the incubus as it scuttles over the rock to the back of the room. The others follow, and she follows as well just in time for meaty hands to pull back a rift in the air and allow a massive beast through. Wings uncurl from the back, and a grin comes over its face, heavy horned head swinging in their direction, and she can feel her stomach drop behind the rage that has fizzled slightly. As glowing chains are shattered with a roar, she frantically searches for the other fiends, and meets a set of eyes.

Her heart aches. She knows those eyes, soft brown and laughing gently, she can almost hear the laughter in the air, can almost smell the iron of a freshly blooded kill in the fields of home.

A familiar voice curls at the back of her head, gentle, prickling, playful almost as it whispers to her, “You are so beautiful when you are angry.” She tries to shake her head, shake it out, because that’s not right, but it grabs and pulls at her mind, stroking over the harsh edges of her rage and gentles them, “Why do you fight for them? You know you will lose them again, it always happens.” The voice chuckles, and her rage sharpens, clarifies, grows. “Get rid of them now, spare yourself the pain.”

And she sees as Beauregard grabs brown hair, fists her hand in it, and pounds, the sound of skull impacting stone and rage curls in her gut as a crossbow bolt glimmers under the soft flesh of the chin and the form falls still.

She rushes forward, hands clenching around her sword and she just can’t make it as Beauregard darts past her, metal shrieking as it grinds against stone. Her rage twists darker and deeper, that voice whispering in her head, “She isn’t serious with her love. She won’t die for it like I did.” Her skin tingles as fury rushes through her, tingling, _burning_ , and she once again follows a blur of blue as it pounds fists into flesh.

This time, she does not miss.

Shocked eyes fly to hers, and she snarls. Nothing else matters. Just this, just the swing of her blade into flesh, of blood splattering against stone, of those blue eyes wide in fear.

The rage twists and curls inside her at the impact of fists, it clutches desperately as a flash of realization burns clear through her, leaving her skin tingling and sparking. Beauregard stares at her as she catches her fist, and she swallows thickly before saying, “I’m sorry.”

Relief shadows Beauregard’s face, and now Yasha recognizes tear tracks mingling with sweat on tan skin, she recognizes the desperation as it lessens around blue eyes. She also recognizes the lingering sticky burn of darkness in her veins, of the way it twisted her mind, of the way it twisted her rage against those she loves and she growls, rage flaring, burning the traces of darkness away inside of her.

She sees the lumbering figure of the large horned demon near her friends, and she burns.


End file.
